In a Wide Room
by WallofIllusion
Summary: Ordered into the heart of madness by his god, Stein despairs. Spoilers for late manga.
1. Chapter 1

This'll complement "Contradictions and Compromise," "Unafraid," and "Humanness" as well.

* * *

Everyone else trickled out. Even Spirit looked from Lord Death to his one-time meister and slunk away.

Stein couldn't have moved if there had been a fire.

Soon he would have to focus his eyes on the god before him; soon he would have to speak, to ask questions and hear answers and take in the reality of what had just happened and what would happen in the near future. In this moment, though, there was only echoing silence and empty horror in Stein's head, and the possibility—however faint—that Lord Death could relieve it with a few simple words.

No such words materialized in the air between them.

Stein raised his head and formed an objection that felt dull even as it sunk out of his mouth: "You can't send me there."

It was as impotent as any protest he'd ever offered to the implacable being in front of him. Lord Death didn't answer. There was no, "Oh, you're right—my mistake." Nor was there any hint of "Why not, Stein?" The skull mask stared down at him, and there may as well have been no one behind it at all.

"Do you know what you're asking of me, Lord Death?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

The god answered, "Yes, I know," and Stein felt the trembling begin. It wasn't just in his hands or his knees; it was throughout him, shaking his heart and making it hard for him to breathe. Some irrational part of him was still protesting—there _had_ to be a misunderstanding somewhere, had to be—and the rest of him was trying and failing to grasp the enormity of the truth in front of him. The only response to either was to keep bludgeoning himself with more answers until his unruly mind was beaten into submission.

"After all this time—" he said, and stopped to qualify the way his lips pulled up at the corners. No, this was not a smile of madness; it was despair and it was the part of him that was still waiting for the punchline to this horrible joke. And this tripping laugh was not a laugh but the threat of a sob. But tears would accomplish nothing.

"Twenty years," he said, breathless with awe at the sheer amount of wasted time. "Twenty _years_ spent holding back for you, just so I could go mad on your schedule instead of my own."

"Marie will be there," Lord Death offered.

"Marie won't be enough." She was barely enough now. "You are damning me."

Again there was silence, Lord Death not refuting Stein's accusation. A thousand more words crowded Stein's mouth: claims of an identity outside his madness, protestations of loyalty, screams of traitorous hatred. But why waste them on this unhearing god? It would have been as pointless as shouting at a wall.

"I need your strength, Stein," Lord Death said finally. "We all do."

"A-ha-ha-ha." Something like a laugh, but it didn't feel like one. His _strength_. His insanity, was what that meant, and the lack of control that had terrified him all his life. All of it was fated to be a tool in Lord Death's hands, and nothing more. If Stein's mind was lost in the process—who should care? (He thought of Marie, looking up into mad eyes and pleading; he made himself shove the thought back into the depths of his mind.) Who had the right to care, if his god did not?

He gritted his teeth and raised his hand to turn his screw: four times before it clicked into place, the sound echoing in the empty air.

"Is that an order?" he asked, because his disbelief had been vanquished. He only needed to hear it one more time, now.

Without hesitation, without the faintest note of regret or apology, the answer came: "Yep."

Order pulled his spine straight and brought his hand into a rigid salute. Like a little tin soldier. "Very well, then," he said, and he let order have him for the last time, until chaos came to stake its claim instead.


	2. Chapter 2

He crouched in a corner, huddled and shivering, staring at the spot where two walls met the floor. His hands were jammed over his ears, but he could still hear the rest of his mind laughing raucously about unwrapping these unending "presents." At least they were evil, he reassured himself, mouth trembling around the words, at least they needed to die; not like the innocents he would be eviscerating if he'd chosen to betray Death the way Death had betrayed him.

Lord Death, he reminded himself, but the laughter drowned the whispered words out.

Footsteps.

He shuddered. No. Please no footsteps. And if there had to be footsteps, why did they have to have the echoing clack of boots? Why couldn't the feet be bare, gliding towards him to speak the poison that would euthanize him entirely? _She_ had been conspicuously absent—except for the first night when she'd come to heap scorn onto him for giving into madness without embracing its temptation. He'd had nothing to say in return, and now her absence ached in his chest. He was such a fool.

The footsteps continued wandering through his mind. Maybe she would get lost. Yes, that was it. By all rights that was what should happen. She was always getting lost.

Closer.

Right behind him.

They stopped.

And in a moment, he felt a warm hand settle onto his shoulder. A rustle of cloth as she kneeled next to him, and her hand snaked (if only) to his other shoulder and pulled him close. He shuddered.

–You're still here, she said. There was relief in her voice. –I was looking for you.

Still here, still stubbornly existing even though his existence had fallen drastically in prioritization. Not just his own prioritization.

–Are you going to come back once this is all over?

If the Kishin won, there would be no chance of that. Of course, if the Kishin won, they'd all be dead, not just mad. If they won, somehow—he shook in her embrace.

–Don't you want to?

Of course he wanted to; that was his nature, he was the part that wanted to be sane, the part that had fought for so long, gaining and losing ground and nearly going mad himself trying to prevent exactly what was happening now. The god he served had all but called him meaningless and yet it was not in him to give up. Why couldn't he be a fatalist and convince himself that this was the end? Why didn't the witch come to coax him into inexistence?

–We want you to come back, she said, squeezing his shoulder. –I've been so worried about you. I've missed you, Stein.

He did not laugh; laughter was what the other did. Instead a whine trickled out of him. He wasn't "Stein." That was the other, the one out there. He was too small, too powerless, to deserve a name.

–Death doesn't want me back, he rasped. The pronouncement sounded incomplete, so he corrected himself. –Lord Death.

There. Now it sounded right, it burned but it sounded right.

He could feel her frowning. –That can't be true.

No, it wasn't and he was overstating it; the truth was far colder. –He doesn't care.

–That can't be true, Stein. She was using that name again and what was he doing, picking at a Deathscythe's faith like this? He shuddered. –Stein? What did he say to you when you stayed behind to talk to him?

Not much. He'd done most of the talking himself even as he felt himself crushed by DeathLordDeath's (it still hurt even when he scrunched it up like that) impassive silence. _Twenty years spent holding back for you_ and _You are damning me_ and no reply.

–Please go away, he whispered. –Forget about me. It would be easier if you just kill us when this is over. I don't want…

Ah, there it was.

It was that simple.

He didn't want to forgive, didn't want to go back to loyalty when he'd been betrayed, but he could not survive on his own and without Death to be Lord Death he would not be able to sometimes give the other what he wanted, what they both wanted. But if his only options were that or let the other rule, then that was what he would choose.

He was trapped.

He'd always been fucking trapped.

He pulled out of her arms and stood, ignoring her when she said the name that wasn't his anyway. Slowly, he trudged along the wall of the enormous room, keeping his eyes on the floor. Soon he could not feel her anymore. When he reached a different corner, he crouched there, shivering and staring at where the two walls met the floor. He put his hands over his ears as if he'd ever had a chance of blocking Stein's laughter out.


End file.
